THE  CAPTIVE  LION 


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BY    WILLIAM    HENRY    DAVIES 


EX    LIBRIS 

THE    UNIVERSITY 

OF    CALIFORNIA 


FROM  THE  FUND 

ESTABLISHED  AT  YALE 

IN  1927  BY 

WILLIAM  H.  CROCKER 

OF  THE  CLASS  OF  1882 

SHEFFIELD  SCIENTIFIC  SCHOOL 

YALE  UNIVERSITY 


The  Captive  Lion 
Other  Poems 


PUBLISHED  ON  THE 

KINGSLEY  TRUST  ASSOCIATION 

PUBLICATION  FUND 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/captivelionotherOOdavirich 


The  Captive  Lion 


Other  Poems 


By  William  Henry  Davies 


P^:itvesj^ 


New  Haven 

Yale  University  Press 

Mdccccxxi 


V         Copyright,  1 92 1 ,  by 
William  Henry  Davies. 


The  publishers  are  indebted  to  The  New 
Republic  for  permission  to  reprint  "When 
Autumn's  Fruit." 


Contents 

The  Captive  Lion          .          .          .          .          i 

Oh,  Sweet  Content! 

2 

The  Villain 

3 

Love  Speechless    . 

4 

The  Dog    . 

>         5 

The  Rat     . 

6 

The  Cat     . 

7 

Today 

8 

How  Kind  is  Sleep 

9 

The  Force  of  Love 

lO 

When  Leaves  Begin 

11 

Passion's  Hounds 

12 

Love  Impeached  . 

•       13 

The  Truth 

14 

The  Coming  of  Peace 

•     15 

April's  Lambs 

.     16 

The  Coming  of  Spring  , 

•     17 

A  Song 

.     18 

Love's  Caution     . 

•     19 

Trees 

20 

What  County?     . 

21 

A  Child's  Pet       . 

22 

The  Flirt    . 

23 

The  Clock  . 

24 

A  Bird's  Anger     . 

25 

Bird  and  Brook    . 

26 

646540 


When  Autumn's  Fruit 

One  Thing  Wanting 

The  Mint  . 

Worm-Proof 

Comfort 

Her  Mouth  and  Mine 

Let  Me  Confess    . 

Love's  Silent  Hour 

Now  That  She  Gives 

You  Interfering  Ladies 

Ladies'  Men 

The  Song  of  Life 

Raptures     . 

Confession 

Easter 

My  Love  Could  Walk 

My  Old  Acquaintance 

A  Winter's  Night 

Birds 

Jove  Warns  Us 

The  Excuse 

In  the  Snow 

Molly 

Killed  in  Action  (Edward  Thomas) 

Lovely  Dames 

The  Shameless  One 

Cowslips  and  Larks 

vi 


We  Arm  to  Fight 

Forgiveness 

That  Day  She  Seized     . 

The  Bell     . 

A  Strange  Meeting 

When  yon  Full  Moon    . 

Till  I  Went  Out  . 

The  Soul's  Companions 

To  my  Thoughts 

The  Holly  on  the  Wall 

How  Late  . 

Brothers      .  .  . 

Exalted  Flower    . 

What  Thoughts  are  Mine 

Angel  and  Mystery 

They're  Taxing  Ale  Again 

The  Girl  is  Mad  . 

In  Time  of  War  . 

England 

Come,  Let  Us  Find 

The  Birds  of  Steel 

Rags  and  Bones    . 

The  Dancer 

On   Hearing   Mrs.   Woodhouse   Play   the 

Harpsichord 
Passion's  Greed    . 
Late  Singers 

vii 


The  Captive '.Lion 

THOU  that  in  fury  with  thy  knotted  tail 
Hast  made  this  iron  floor  thy  beaten  drum ; 
That  now  in  silence  walks  thy  little  space — 
Like  a  sea-captain — careless  what  may  come : 

What  power  has  brought  your  majesty  to  this, 
Who  gave  those  eyes  their  dull  and  sleepy  look; 
Who  took  their  lightning  out,  and  from  thy  throat 
The  thunder  when  the  whole  wide  forest  shook? 

It  was  that  man  who  went  again,  alone, 
Into  thy  forest  dark — Lord,  he  was  brave ! 
That  man  a  fly  has  killed,  whose  bones  are  left 
Unburied  till  an  earthquake  digs  his  grave. 


Oh,  Sweet  Content ! 

OH,  sweet  content,  that  turns  the  labourer's 
sweat. 
To  tears  of  joy,  and  shines  the  roughest  face; 
How  often  have  I  sought  you  high  and  low, 
And  found  you  still  in  some  lone  quiet  place. 

Here,  in  my  room,  when  full  of  happy  dreams, 
With  no  life  heard  beyond  that  merry  sound 

Of  moths  that  on  my  lighted  ceiling  kiss 

Their  shadows  as  they  dance  and  dance  around. 

Or  in  a  garden,  on  a  summer's  night, 

When  I  have  seen  the  dark  and  solemn  air 
Blink  with  the  blind  bat's  wings,  and  heaven's 
bright  face 
Twitch  with  the  stars  that  shine  in  thousands 
there. 


The  Villain 

WHILE  joy  gave  clouds  the  light  of  stars, 
That  beamed  where'er  they  looked ; 
And  calves  and  lambs  had  tottering  knees, 

Excited,  while  they  sucked; 
While  every  bird  enjoyed  his  song. 
Without  one  thought  of  harm  or  wrong — 
I  turned  my  head  and  saw  the  wind. 

Not  far  from  where  I  stood. 
Dragging  the  com  by  her  golden  hair, 

Into  a  dark  and  lonely  wood. 


Love  Speechless 

I  LOOK  on  Nature  and  my  thoughts. 
Like  nimble  skaters,  skim  the  land; 
But  when  I  watch  my  loved  one  near, 
My  thoughts  are  walkers  in  soft  sand. 

I  am  a  man  that  sees  a  sky 
Alive  with  stars  that  cannot  rest; 
My  eyes  are  here,  my  eyes  are  there. 
Above,  and  then  below  her  breast. 

Much  like  the  summer's  bee  am  I, 
A  thousand  flowers  before  his  eyes; 
He,  knowing  each  one's  power  to  please. 
No  sooner  settles  than  must  rise. 

I  sit  bewildered  by  those  charms 
That  follow  wave  by  wave  all  day; 
When  I  would  with  one  wave  make  free, 
The  others  take  my  breath  away. 


The  Dog 


THE  dog  was  there,  outside  her  door, 
She  gave  it  food  and  drink, 
She  gave  it  shelter  from  the  cold : 

It  was  the  night  young  Molly  robbed 
An  old  fool  of  his  gold. 


"Molly,"  I  said,  "you'll  go  to  hell " 

And  yet  I  half  believed 
That  ugly,  famished,  tottering  cur 

Would  bark  outside  the  gates  of  Heaven, 
To  open  them  for  Her ! 


The  Rat 

THAT  woman  there  is  almost  dead, 
Her  feet  and  hands  like  heavy  lead; 
Her  cat's  gone  out  for  his  delight, 
He  will  not  come  again  this  night. 

"Her  husband  in  a  pothouse  drinks, 
Her  daughter  at  a  soldier  winks; 
Her  son  is  at  his  sweetest  game, 
Teasing  the  cobbler  old  and  lame. 

*'Now  with  these  teeth  that  powder  stones, 
I'll  pick  at  one  of  her  cheekbones : 
When  husband,  son  and  daughter  come, 
They'll  soon  see  who  was  left  at  home." 


The  Cat 

WITHIN  that  porch,  across  the  way, 
I  see  two  naked  eyes  this  night; 
Two  eyes  that  neither  shut  nor  blink, 
Searching  my  face  with  a  green  light. 

But  cats  to  me  are  strange,  so  strange — 
I  cannot  sleep  if  one  is  near; 

And  though  I'm  sure  I  see  those  eyes, 
I'm  not  so  sure  a  body's  there! 


Today 


I  HAVE  no  hopes,  I  have  no  fears, 
Whether  my  dreams  are  gossamers 
To  last  beyond  my  body's  day. 
Or  cobwebs  to  be  brushed  away. 
Give  me  this  life  from  hour  to  hour, 
From  day  to  day,  and  year  to  year; 
This  cottage  with  one  extra  room 
To  lodge  a  friend  if  he  should  come ; 
This  garden  green  and  small,  where  I 
Can  sit  and  see  a  great  big  sky. 
And  give  me  one  tall  shady  tree. 
Where,  looking  through  the  boughs,  I'll  see 
How  the  sharp  leaves  can  cut  the  skies 
Into  a  thousand  small  blue  eyes. 


8 


How  Kind  is  Sleep 

How  kind  is  sleep,  how  merciful : 
That  I  last  night  have  seen 
The  happy  birds  with  bosoms  pressed 
Against  the  leaves  so  green. 

Sweet  sleep,  that  made  my  mind  forget 

My  love  had  gone  away; 
And  nevermore  I'd  touch  her  soft 

Warm  body,  night  or  day. 

So,  every  night  deceived  by  sleep, 

Let  me  on  roses  lie; 
And  leave  the  thorns  of  Truth  for  day, 

To  pierce  me  till  I  die. 


The  Force  of  Love 

HAVE  I  now  found  an  angel  in  Unrest, 
That  wakeful  Love  is  more  desired  than 
sleep : 
Though  you  seem  calm  and  gentle,  you  shall  show 
The  force  of  this  strong  love  in  me  so  deep. 

Yes,  I  will  make  you,  though  you  seem  so  calm. 
Look  from  your  blue  eyes  that  divinest  joy 

As  was  in  Juno's,  when  she  made  great  Jove 
Forget  the  war  and  half  his  heaven  in  Troy. 

And  I  will  press  your  lips  until  they  mix 
With  my  poor  quality  their  richer  wine : 

Be  my  Parnassus  now,  and  grow  more  green 
Each  upward  step  towards  your  top  divine. 


lo 


When  Leaves  Begin 

WHEN  leaves  begin  to  show  their  heads, 
Before  they  reach  their  curly  youth; 
And  birds  in  streams  are  coming  north, 
With  seas  of  music  from  the  south ; 


Then — like  a  snail  with  horns  outstretched- 
My  senses  feel  the  air  around; 
There's  not  a  move  escapes  my  eyes. 
My  ears  are  cocked  to  every  sound. 

Till  Nature  to  her  greenest  comes. 
And — with  her  may  that  blossoms  white — 
Bursts  her  full  bodice,  and  reveals 
Her  fair  white  body  in  the  light. 


11 


Passion's  Hounds 

WITH  mighty  leaps  and  bounds, 
I  followed  Passion's  hounds, 
My  hot  blood  had  its  day ; 
Lust,  Gluttony,  and  Drink, 
I  chased  to  Hell's  black  brink, 
Both  night  and  day. 

I  ate  like  three  strong  men, 
I  drank  enough  for  ten. 

Each  hour  must  have  its  glass : 
Yes,  Drink  and  Gluttony 
Have  starved  more  brains,  say  I, 

Than  Hunger  has. 

And  now,  when  I  grow  old, 
And  my  slow  blood  is  cold. 

And  feeble  is  my  breath — 
Tm  followed  by  those  hounds. 
Whose  mighty  leaps  and  bounds 

Hunt  me  to  death. 


12 


Love  Impeached 

1ISTEN  for  pity— I  impeach 
^  The  tyrant  Love  that,  after  play, 
Dribbles  on  Beauty's  cheek,  and  still 
Refuses  to  be  moved  away. 

That,  not  content  with  many  a  kiss. 
Plays  with  his  fingers  on  her  lip; 

And  if  she  turns  her  back  to  him, 
Drums  with  his  hand  on  either  hip. 


Sometimes  he  squeezes,  then  he  slaps, 
I've  heard  he  even  bites  her  breast. 

Now,  how  can  Beauty  keep  her  charms. 
If  she  gets  neither  sleep  nor  rest"? 

Is  there  no  punishment,  I  ask — 
No  small  corrections,  soft  and  mild : 

For  let  us  never  once  forget 

That,  after  all,  he's  but  a  child. 


13 


The  Truth 

SINCE  I  have  seen  a  bird  one  day, 
His  head  pecked  more  than  half  away; 
That  hopped  about,  with  but  one  eye, 
Ready  to  fight  again,  and  die— 
Ofttimes  since  then  their  private  lives 
Have  spoilt  that  joy  their  music  gives. 

So  when  I  see  this  robin  now, 
Like  a  red  apple  on  the  bough, 
And  question  why  he  sings  so  strong. 
For  love,  or  for  the  love  of  song; 
Or  sings,  maybe,  for  that  sweet  rill 
Whose  silver  tongue  is  never  still — 

Ah,  now  there  comes  this  thought  unkind. 
Born  of  the  knowledge  in  my  mind : 
He  sings  in  triumph  that  last  night 
He  killed  his  father  in  a  fight; 
And  now  he'll  take  his  mother's  blood —   . 
The  last  strong  rival  for  his  food. 


14 


The  Coming  of  Peace 

IT  was  the  night  when  we  expected  news  from 
France, 
To  say  the  war  was  over,  and  the  fighting  done ; 
The  tidings  that  would  make  my  heart  rejoice  at 
last, 
For  foe  as  well  as  friend,  and  make  the  peoples 
one. 

And  as  I  moved  amidst  that  silent  multitude. 
Feeling  the  presence  of  a  wild  excitement  there, 

The    world    appeared    to    me    so    strange    and 
wonderful — 
I  almost  heard  a  cuckoo  in  Trafalgar  Square ! 


15 


ApriPs  Lambs 

THOUGH  I  was  born  in  April's  prime, 
With  many  another  lamb, 
Yet,  thinking  now  of  all  my  years. 
What  am  I  but  a  tough  old  ram*?" 

''No  woman  thinks  of  years,"  said  she, 

''Or  any  tough  old  rams. 
When  she  can  hear  a  voice  that  bleats 

As  tenderly  as  any  lamb's." 


16 


The  Coming  of  Spring 

How  I  have  watched  thy  coming,  Spring, 
From  back  in  March,  thy  first-born  day, 
When  smiles,  all  meaningless  and  strange, 

Would  twist  thy  face  and  pass  away; 
Such  as  will  cross  the  faces  of 
Our  babes  before  they  grow  to  love. 

Or  wonder  at  the  new-made  light — 
To  this,  thy  great,  all-smiling  hour. 
When  thou  hast  soul  and  sight. 

How  I  have  waited  for  this  day. 

When  thou,  sweet  Spring,  art  three  weeks  old; 
And  I  can  hear  that  strange,  sweet  voice. 

To  seal  the  wonder  of  thy  world ; 
That  lifts  the  heart  of  old  and  young 
To  sing  an  echo  to  that  song 

Which  cries  "cuckoo"  in  every  grove; 
When  I,  who  did  but  smile  before. 

Must  laugh  outright  for  love. 


17 


A  Song 

MY  love  has  gone  long  since, 
She  sleeps,  and  yet  I  stay; 
To  think  of  her  is  my 

Good  night  till  break  of  day. 
So,  in  my  room,  alone, 

I  still  awake  am  keeping; 
Thinking  of  my  white  heaven, 
And  all  its  angels  sleeping. 

Sleep  shall  not  hold  me  yet, 

Her  power  I'll  not  obey; 
I  fear  she  has  strange  dreams 

To  take  my  love  away. 
So,  in  my  room,  alone, 

I  still  awake  am  keeping; 
Thinking  of  my  white  heaven, 

And  all  its  angels  sleeping. 


18 


Love's  Caution 

TELL  them,  when  you  are  home  again, 
How  warm  the  air  was  now ; 
How  silent  were  the  birds  and  leaves. 
And  of  the  moon's  full  glow ; 
And  how  we  saw  afar 
A  falling  star: 
It  was  a  tear  of  pure  delight 
Ran  down  the  face  of  Heaven  this  happy  night. 

Our  kisses  are  but  love  in  flower. 

Until  that  greater  time 
When,  gathering  strength,  those  flowers  take  wing, 
And  Love  can  reach  his  prime. 
And  now,  my  heart's  delight, 
Good  night,  good  night; 
Give  me  the  last  sweet  kiss — 
But  do  not  breathe  at  home  one  word  of  this ! 


19 


Trees 

THEY  ask  me  where  the  Temple  stands, 
And  is  the  Abbey  far  from  there ; 
They  ask  the  way  to  old  St.  Paul's, 

And  where  they'll  find  Trafalgar  Square. 

As  I  pass  on  with  my  one  thought 
To  find  a  quiet  place  with  trees, 

I  answer  him,  I  answer  her, 
I  answer  one  and  all  of  these. 

When  I  sit  under  a  green  tree. 

Silent,  and  breathing  all  the  while 

As  easy  as  a  sleeping  child. 

And  smiling  with  as  soft  a  smile — 

Then,  as  my  brains  begin  to  work. 
This  is  the  thought  that  comes  to  me : 

Were  such  a  peace  more  often  mine, 
I'd  live  as  long  as  this  green  tree. 


20 


What  County? 

WHAT  county  sends  me  this  surprise, 
That  had  more  rainbows  in  its  skies- 
More  songsters  in  its  woods  and  fields, 
Than  any  other  county  yields? 
For,  judging  her  by  her  fresh  look. 
She  never  lived  in  grime  and  smoke. 
So  here  we  are,  the  thrush  and  I — 
How  we  enjoy  our  ecstasy! 
While  one  blue  egg  employs  his  tongue, 
For  two  blue  eyes  I  sing  my  song. 
Yet  when  I  think  how  my  love's  eyes 
Shine  with  a  soul  so  clear  and  wise. 
Your  egg,  poor  bird,  I  fear  to  tell. 
May  have  no  baby  in  its  shell. 
Yon  cuckoo  too,  whose  voice  doth  fail 
When  more  than  one  sing  in  one  vale. 
Hear  how  her  voice  becomes  more  sweet 
x\mong  a  number,  when  they  meet. 
And  yon  pale  star  that  loses  light 
When  other  stars  appear  in  sight. 
See  how  her  light  is  magnified. 
With  other  women  at  her  side. 


21 


A  Child's  Pet 

WHEN  I  sailed  out  of  Baltimore, 
With  twice  a  thousand  head  of  sheep, 
They  would  not  eat,  they  would  not  drink, 
But  bleated  o'er  the  deep. 

Inside  the  pens  we  crawled  each  day. 
To  sort  the  living  from  the  dead; 

And  when  we  reached  the  Mersey's  mouth, 
Had  lost  five  hundred  head. 

Yet  every  night  and  day  one  sheep. 

That  had  no  fear  of  man  or  sea. 
Stuck  through  the  bars  its  pleading  face. 

And  it  was  stroked  by  me. 

And  to  the  sheep-men  standing  near, 

"You  see,"  I  said,  "this  one  tame  sheep? 

It  seems  a  child  has  lost  her  pet. 
And  cried  herself  to  sleep." 

So  every  time  we  passed  it  by, 

Sailing  to  England's  slaughter-house, 

Eight  ragged  sheep-men — tramps  and  thieves- 
Would  stroke  that  sheep's  black  nose. 


22 


The  Flirt 

A  PRETTY  game,  my  girl, 
To  play  with  me  so  long; 
Until  this  other  lover 

Comes  dancing  to  thy  song, 
And  my  affair  is  over. 

But  love,  though  well  adored, 

Is  not  my  only  note : 
So  let  thy  false  love-prattle 

Be  in  another  man's  throat 
That  weaker  man's  death-rattle. 

Ah,  such  as  thou,  at  last, 

Wilt  take  a  false  man's  hand  : 

Think  kindly  then  of  me. 
When  thou'rt  forsaken,  and 

The  shame  sits  on  thy  knee. 


23 


The  Clock 

EVERY  tick  and  every  tock 
That  comes  from  my  old  clock, 
Keeps  time  to  Molly's  step; 
And  when  it  cries  ''Cuckoo," 
Her  hand  should  knock  below. 

Unless — for  now  I  see 

The  clock  looks  down  at  me 

With  a  white  and  silent  face; 
It  stops,  and  not  one  beat 
Keeps  time  to  Molly's  feet. 

Then,  staring  at  that  clock, 
Whose  every  tick  and  tock 

Should  be  one  step  of  hers, 
''Why  have  you  stopped,"  I  said — 
"Has  Molly  dropped  down  dead?" 


24 


A  Bird's  Anger 

A  SUMMER'S    morning    that    has    but    one 
voice ; 
Five  hundred  stooks,  like  golden  lovers,  lean 
Their  heads  together,  in  their  quiet  way. 
And  but  one  bird  sings,  of  a  number  seen. 

It  is  the  lark,  that  louder,  louder  sings. 

As  though  but  this  one  thought  possessed  his 
mind : 

"You  silent  robin,  blackbird,  thrush,  and  finch, 
ril  sing  enough  for  all  you  lazy  kind !" 

And  when  I  hear  him  at  this  daring  task, 

"Peace,  little  bird,"  I  say,  "and  take  some  rest; 

Stop  that  wild,  screaming  fire  of  angry  song. 
Before  it  makes  a  coffin  of  your  nest." 


25 


Bird  and  Brook 

MY  song,  that's  bird-like  in  its  kind, 
Is  in  the  mind, 
Love — in  the  mind ; 
And  in  my  season  I  am  moved 
No  more  or  less  from  being  loved ; 
No  woman's  love  has  power  to  bring 
My  song  back  when  I  cease  to  sing; 
Nor  can  she,  when  my  season's  strong. 
Prevent  my  mind  from  song. 

But  where  I  feel  your  woman's  part, 
Is  in  the  heart. 
Love — in  the  heart ; 

For  when  that  bird  of  mine  broods  long. 
And  I'd  be  sad  without  my  song. 
Your  love  then  makes  my  heart  a  brook 
That  dreams  in  many  a  quiet  nook. 
And  makes  a  steady,  murmuring  sound 
Of  joy  the  whole  year  round. 


26 


When  Autumn's  Fruit 

WHEN  Autumn's  fruit  is  packed  and  stored, 
And  barns  are  full  of  corn  and  grain; 
When  leaves  come  tumbling  down  to  earth, 
Shot  down  by  wind  or  drops  of  rain : 
Then  up  the  road  we'll  whistling  go, 
And,  with  a  heart  that's  merry. 
We'll  rob  the  squirrel  of  a  nut. 
Or  blackbird  of  a  berry. 

When  Winter's  bare  and  cold  for  all. 
Save  lovers  with  their  spawny  eyes; 
And,  like  a  horse  that  fleas  annoy. 
We  stamp,  to  make  our  spirits  rise : 
Then  out  of  doors  we'll  whistling  go. 
And,  with  a  heart  that's  merry. 
We'll  feed — while  richer  squirrels  sleep — 
The  birds  that  have  no  berry. 


27 


One  Thing  Wanting 

YOUR  life  was  hard  with  mangling  clothes, 
You  scrubbed  our  floors  for  years ; 
But  now,  your  children  are  so  good, 
That  you  can  rest  your  poor  old  limbs, 
And  want  for  neither  drink  nor  meat." 
"It's  true,"  she  said,  and  laughed  for  joy; 
And  still  her  voice,  with  all  her  years, 
Could  make  a  song-bird  wonder  if 
A  rival  sweetness  challenged  him. 
But  soon  her  face  was  full  of  trouble : 
"If  I  could  only  tear,"  she  said, 
"My  sister  Alice  out  of  her  grave — 
Who  taunted  me  when  I  was  poor — 
And  make  her  understand  these  words : 
'See,  I  have  everything  I  want. 
My  children,  Alice,  are  so  good' — 
If  I  could  only  once  do  that. 
There's  nothing  else  I  want  on  earth." 


28 


The  Mint 

NATURE  has  made  my  mind  a  mint, 
My  thoughts  are  coins,  on  which  I  live ; 
The  dies,  with  which  I  stamp  my  thoughts. 
Trees,  blossoms,  birds,  and  children  give. 

Sometimes  my  die's  a  homeless  man, 
Or  babes  that  have  no  milk  and  perish ; 

Sometimes  it  is  a  lady  fair. 

Whose  grace  and  loveliness  I  relish. 

But  all  my  love-thoughts,  until  now. 
Were  false  to  utter,  and  must  cease ; 

And  not  another  coin  must  pass  , 

Without  your  image  on  each  piece. 

So  you  shall  be  my  queen  from  now. 
Your  face  on  every  thought  I  utter; 

And  I'll  be  rich — although  the  world 
May  judge  my  metal's  worth  no  better. 


29 


Worm-Proof 

''  TT  AVE  I  not  bored  your  teeth,"  said  Time, 

JL  X    "Until  they  drop  out,  one  by  one : 
I'll  turn  your  black  hairs  into  white, 

And  pluck  them  when  the  change  is  done ; 
The  clothes  you've  put  away  with  care. 

My  worm's  already  in  their  seams " 

'Time,  hold  your  tongue,  for  man  can  still 

Defy  you  with  his  worm-proof  dreams." 


30 


Comfort 

FROM  my  own  kind  I  only  learn 
How  foolish  comfort  is ; 
To  gather  things  that  happy  minds 

Should  neither  crave  nor  miss : 
Fine  brackets  to  adorn  my  walls, 

Whose  tales  are  quickly  told; 
And  copper  candlesticks  or  brass, 
Which  soon  must  leave  me  cold. 

From  my  own  kind  I  only  learn 

That  comfort  breeds  more  care; 
But  when  I  watch  our  smaller  lives, 

There's  plainness  everywhere : 
That  little  bird  is  well  content. 

When  he  no  more  can  sing, 
To  close  his  eyes  and  tuck  his  head 

Beneath  his  own  soft  wing. 


31 


Her  Mouth  and  Mine 

AS  I  lay  dreaming,  open-eyed, 
jLjL  With  some  one  sitting  at  my  side, 
I  saw  a  thing  about  to  fly 
Into  my  face,  where  it  would  lie ; 
For  just  above  my  head  there  stood 
A  smiling  hawk  as  red  as  blood. 
On  which  the  bird,  whose  quiet  nest 
Has  always  been  in  my  left  breast. 
Seeing  that  red  hawk  hovering  there. 
And  smiling  with  such  deadly  care — 
Flew  fascinated  to  my  throat, 
And  there  it  moaned  a  feeble  note. 
I  saw  that  hawk,  so  red,  and  still. 
And  closed  my  eyes — it  had  its  will : 
For,  uttering  one  triumphant  croon. 
It  pounced  with  sudden  impulse  down ; 
And  there  I  lay,  no  power  to  move. 
To  let  it  kiss  or  bite  its  love. 
But  in  those  birds — Ah,  it  was  strange — 
There  came  at  last  this  other  change  : 
That  fascinated  bird  of  mine 
Worried  the  hawk  and  made  it  whine ; 
The  hawk  cried  feebly — ''Oh  dear,  oh ! 
Greedy-in-love,  leave  go!    Leave  go!" 


32 


Let  Me  Confess 

IET  me  confess,  before  I  die, 
•J  I  sing  for  gold  enough  to  buy 
A  little  house  with  leafy  eyes 
That  open  to  the  Southern  skies; 

Where  I,  in  peace  from  human  strife, 
Will  wish  no  Lazarus  brought  to  life. 
Around  my  garden  I  will  see 
More  wild  flowers  than  are  known  to  me; 

With  those  white  hops,  whose  children  are 
Big,  heavy  casks  of  ale  and  beer; 
And  little  apples,  from  whose  womb 
Barrels  of  lusty  cider  come. 

Good  food,  and  ale  that's  strong  in  brew, 
And  wine,  I'll  have;  clear  water  too, 
From  a  deep  well,  where  it  doth  lie 
Shining  as  small  as  my  own  eye. 

And  any  friend  may  come  to  share 
What  comfort  I  am  keeping  there; 
For  though  my  sins  are  many,  one 
Shall  not  be  mine,  when  my  life's  done  : 
A  fortune  saved  by  one  that's  dead. 
Who  saw  his  fellows  starve  for  bread. 
33 


Love's  Silent  Hour 

THIS  is  Love's  silent  hour,  before  the  tongue 
Can  find  expression  happy  in  a  song; 
Yet  your  sweet,  generous  lips  shall  have  their 

hour, 
Believe  me,  when  my  song  comes  back  to  power; 
So  shall  those  eyes,  so  dark,  so  warm,  and  deep, 
That  wake  for  me,  and  for  all  others  sleep : 
Meanwhile  I  do  no  more  than  sit  and  sigh. 
Watching  your  movements  with  a  greedy  eye. 

Those  birds  that  sing  so  sweet  in  their  green  bogs, 
Their  season  over,  croak  like  common  frogs : 
My  thoughts,  I  hoped,  would  like  those  nightin- 
gales 
Sing  sweet  for  you,  but  still  my  music  fails ; 
My  music  fails,  and  I  can  only  kiss 
Your  cheek  and  chin,  and  to  myself  say  this — 
There  never  was  a  thing  so  fair  and  bright. 
By  sun  or  moon,  by  gas  or  candle-light. 


34 


Now  That  She  Gives 

Now  that  she  gives  my  love  consent, 
I  hear  an  evil  spirit  near; 
A  mocking  spirit,  day  and  night. 
That  whispers  threats  in  either  ear. 

"Since  you  are  twice  her  age,"  it  says, 

''Thick-lipped,  with  features  large  and  coarse; 

And  she,  so  young  and  beautiful. 
Could  all  her  life  do  nothing  worse; 

"Since  she,  poor  girl,  mistakes  for  love 
The  feelings  that  possess  her  heart — 

She  must  be  daft,  and  you,  strong  wretch, 
Should  burn  in  hell  for  such  a  part !" 


35 


You  Interfering  Ladies 

You  interfering  ladies,  you 
That  prove  your  minds  enjoy  less  rest 
Than  those  poor  mortals  you  advise, 

Whose  habits  shock  your  dainty  taste — 
Peace,  let  the  poor  be  free  to  do 
The  things  they  like — be  happy,  you! 

Let  boys  and  girls  kiss  here  and  there, 

Men  drink,  and  smoke  the  strongest  weed; 

Let  beggars,  who'll  not  wash  with  soap. 
Enjoy  their  scratching  till  they  bleed: 

Let  all  poor  women,  if  they  please. 

Enjoy  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  sneeze. 


36 


Ladies'  Men 

MEN  that  have  strength  to  rule  their  sex 
Leave  women  still  unmoved ; 
Men  that  by  vi^omen  are  preferred — 
By  that  strange  sex  adored  and  loved — 
Will  rise  by  neither  deed  nor  word. 

When  women's  dainty  heroes  are 

Conferring  with  strong  men, 

They  sit  in  fear,  as  dumb  as  graves ; 

So,  ladies,  your  sweet  darlings  then. 

What  are  they  but  our  strong  men's  slaves? 


37 


The  Song  of  Life 


The  Song  of  Life 


A  SNEEZE  from  Time  gives  Life  its  little 
breath ; 
Time  yawns,  and  lo !  he  swallows  Life  in  Death ; 
When  we  forget,  and  laugh  without  a  care. 
Time's  Prompter,  Death,  reminds  us  what  we  are. 

II 
O  thou  vain  fool,  to  waste  thy  breath  and  theirs, 
Who  pipes  this  day  to  make  thy  fellows  dance; 
To-morrow  Death  will  make  thy  body  show 
How  worms  can  dance  without  thy  music  once. 

Ill 

We  are  but  fools,  no  matter  what  we  do. 
By  hand  or  brain  we  work,  and  waste  our  breath ; 
Life's  but  a  drunkard,  in  his  own  strange  way, 
Sobered  at  last  by  thy  strong  physic.  Death. 

IV 

Life  is  a  fisherman,  and  Time  his  stream. 
But  what  he  catches  there  is  but  a  dream; 
Our  Youth  and  Beauty,  Riches,  Power  and  Fame, 
Must  all  return  at  last  from  whence  they  came. 

41 


The  Song  of  Life 


Death  gives  a  Royal  Prince  the  same  dumb  grin 
As  to  the  beggar's  wayside  brat  of  sin. 
The  cunning  Spider  soon  himself  must  lie 
Dead  in  that  trap  he  sets  to  catch  a  Fly. 


VI 

Time  grants  to  man  no  freehold  property; 
The  power  of  man,  however  great  it  be, 
Is  only  granted  here  for  a  short  lease. 
Voices  the  world  has  called  divine  must  cease. 


VII 

Fools  that  we  think  of  Fame,  when  there's  a  force 
To  make  a  coffin  of  this  world  of  ours 
And  sweep  it  clean  of  every  living  thing — 
What  then  becomes  of  man  and  all  his  powers  ? 

VIII 

Think  of  our  giants  now — they're  auctioneers. 
That  shout  and  hammer  for  the  people's  cheers ; 
They  blow  in  gales,  but  no  good  ear  can  find 
The  small  clear  voice  that  deepens  Nature's  wind. 

42 


The  Song  of  Life 


IX 

We  call  these  rockets  steadfast  stars,  and  give 
Them  honours,  wealth,  and  swear  their  works  will 

live; 
We  call  them  giants,  while  the  greater  ones 
Move  like  dark  planets  round  those  favoured  suns. 

X 

This   world,   that  licks   them   with  its   pleasant 

slime. 
Will  swallow  them  in  but  a  little  time; 
Their  Fame's  like  Death's,  when  that  cold  villain 

places 
Bright  looks  of  youth  on  dying  old  men's  faces. 

XI 

We  pass  away,  forgotten  and  neglected. 
When  thou,  poor  fool,  hast  lately  filled  thy  grave. 
Thy  friends  will  bring  thee  cut  and  costly  flowers, 
Flowers  that  will  leave  no  living  seed  behind, 
And  fade  and  perish  in  a  few  short  hours. 

XII 

Perchance  they'll  set  the  soil  with  roots  of  plants 
To  live  and  bloom  again  there,  year  by  year, 
Moistened  at  times  by  Heaven's  dew  or  rain — 
But  never  once  a  loving  human  tear. 

43 


The  Song  of  Life 

XIII 

Plants  that  will  need  no  help  from  human  hands 
To  make  thy  grave  look  lovely,  warm  and  sweet — 
When  all,  except  the  fierce  wild  cat,  has  gone, 
That  lies  in  wait  to  pounce  upon  those  birds 
That  beat  the  snails  to  death  against  thy  stone. 

XIV 

I  hear  men  say:  'This  Davies  has  no  depth. 
He  writes  of  birds,  of  staring  cows  and  sheep, 
And  throws  no  light  on  deep,  eternal  things- 


And  would  they  have  me  talking  in  my  sleep? 


XV 

I  say:  'Though  many  a  man's  ideas  of  them 
Have  made  his  name  appear  a  shining  star, 
Yet  Life  and  Death,  Time  and  Eternity, 
Are  still  left  dark,  to  wonder  what  they  are. 

XVI 

"And  if  I  make  men  weigh  this  simple  truth. 
It  is  on  my  own  mind  the  light  is  thrown ; 
I  throw  no  light  on  that  mysterious  Four, 
And,  like  the  great  ones,  nothing  I  make  known.' 

44 


The  Song  of  Life 


XVII 

Yet  I  believe  that  there  will  come  at  last 
A  mighty  knowledge  to  our  human  lives : 
And  blessed  then  will  be  the  fools  that  laugh, 
Without  the  fear  Imagination  gives. 

XVIII 

Aye,  even  now,  when  I  sit  here  alone, 
I  feel  the  breath  of  that  strange  terror  near; 
But  as  my  mind  has  not  sufficient  strength 
To  give  it  shape  or  form  of  any  kind, 
I  turn  to  things  I  know,  and  banish  fear. 

XIX 

I  turn  to  Man,  and  what  do  I  behold*? 
What  is  the  meaning  of  this  rush  and  tear 
To  ride  from  home  by  water,  land,  or  air? 
We'll  want  the  horses  soon,  when  our  life  fails, 
To  drag  a  corpse  along  as  slow  as  snails. 

XX 

Why  should  this  toil  from  early  morn  till  night 
Employ  our  minds  and  bodies,  when  the  Earth 
Can  carry  us  forever  round  the  Sun 
Without  the  help  of  any  mortal  birth? 

45 


The  Song  of  Life 


XXI 

And  why  should  common  shelter,  bread  and  meat, 
Keep  all  our  faculties  in  their  employ. 
And  leave  no  time  for  ease,  while  Summer's  in 
The  greenwood,  purring  like  a  cat  for  joy? 

XXII 

For  still  the  People  are  no  more  than  slaves; 
Each  State  a  slave-ship,  and  no  matter  which 
The  figure-head — a  President  or  King; 
The  People  are  no  more  than  common  grass 
To  make  a  few  choice  cattle  fat  and  rich. 

XXIII 

They  toil  from  morn  till  eve,  from  Youth  to  Age; 
They  go  from  bud  to  seed,  but  never  flower. 
''Ah,"  says  the  Priest,  ''we're  born  to  suffer  here 
A  hell  on  earth  till  God  Almighty's  Hour." 

XXIV 

A  hell  on  earth?  .  .  .  We'll  ask  the  merry  Moth 
That,  making  a  partner  of  his  shadow  thrown, 
Dances  till  out  of  breath;  we'll  ask  the  Lark 
That  meets  the  Rain  half-way  and  sings  it  down. 

46 


The  Song  of  Life 


XXV 

In  studying  Life  we  see  this  human  world 
Is  in  three  states — of  copper,  silver,  gold, 
And  those  that  think  in  silver  take  the  joy; 
Thinking  in  copper,  gold,  the  poor  and  rich 
Keep  mis'ry  in  too  little  and  too  much. 

XXVI 

Though  with  my  money  I  could  cram  a  mouth 
Big  as  an  Alpine  gorge  with  richest  stuff. 
Yet  Nature  sets  her  bounds ;  and  with  a  lake 
Of  wine — to-night  one  bottle  is  enough. 

XXVII 

If  I  can  pluck  the  rose  of  sunset,  or 
The  Moon's  pale  lily,  and  distil  their  flower 
Into  one  mental  drop  to  scent  my  soul — 
ril  envy  no  man  his  more  worldly  power. 

XXVIII 

What  matters  that  my  bed  is  soft  and  white. 
If  beggars  sleep  more  sweet  in  hay,  or  there. 
Lying  at  noon  beneath  those  swaying  boughs 
Whose  cooling  shadows  lift  the  heavy  air. 

47 


The  Song  of  Life 

XXIX 

Not  owning  house  or  land,  but  in  the  space 
Our  minds  inhabit,  we  are  rich  or  poor : 
If  I  had  youth,  who  dances  in  his  walk, 
On  heels  as  nimble  as  his  lighter  toes, 
I'd  set  no  price  on  any  earthly  store. 

XXX 

And  wine  and  women,  both  have  had  their  day. 
When  nothing  else  would  my  crazed  thoughts 

allow ; 
Until  my  nerves  shook  like  those  withered  leaves 
Held  by  a  broken  cobweb  to  the  bough. 

XXXI 

I  touched  my  mistress  lightly  on  the  chin. 
That  girl  so  merciless  in  her  strong  passion : 
''Since  love,"  she  said,  ''has  reached  that  flippant 

mood — 
With  no  more  care  than  that — I'd  rather  you 
Had  struck  my  mouth,  and  dashed  my  lips  with 

blood.'' 

XXXII 

And  is  there  naught  in  life  but  lust?  thought  I; 
Feeble  my  brain  was  then,  and  small,  and  weak; 
She  held  it  in  her  power,  even  as  a  bird 
With  his  live  breakfast  squirming  from  his  beak. 

48 


The  Song  of  Life 


XXXIII 

Man  finds  in  such  a  Woman's  breast  the  tomb 
Where  his  creative  powers  must  soon  lie  dumb; 
To  kiss  the  tomb  in  weakness,  hour  by  hour. 
Wherein  she  buries  half  his  mental  power. 

XXXIV 

They  say  that  under  powerful  drugs  the  tongue 
Will  babble  wildly  of  some  sin  or  wrong 
That  never  happened — even  virgins  then 
Tell  devilish  lies  about  themselves  and  men. 

XXXV 

Under  that  drug  of  lust  my  brain  was  mazed. 
And  oft  I  babbled  in  a  foolish  way; 
And  still  she  bounced  the  babies  in  her  eyes, 
For  Love's  mad  challenge  not  to  miss  one  day. 

XXXVI 

But  that  is  passed,  and  I  am  ready  now 
To  come  again,  sweet  Nature,  to  your  haunts; 
Not  come  together  like  a  snake  and  stone. 
When  neither  body  gives  the  other  heat — 
But  full  of  love  to  last  till  Life  has  gone. 

49 


The  Song  of  Life 


XXXVII 

A  little  while  and  I  will  come  again, 
From  my  captivity  in  this  strange  place; 
That  has  these  secret  charms  to  lure  me  on, 
In  every  alley  dark  and  open  space; 

XXXVIII 

That  makes  me  like  the  jealous  lover  who. 
Eavesdropping  at  a  keyhole,  trembles  more 
Because  the  silence  there  is  worse  to  him  than 

sound. 
And  nothing's  heard  behind  the  fastened  door. 

XXXIX 

To  you  ril  come,  my  old  and  purer  friend. 
With  greater  love  in  these  repentant  hours; 
To  let  your  Brooks  run  singing  to  my  lips; 
And  walk  again  your  Meadows  full  of  flowers. 

XL 

I'll  stroke  again  the  foreheads  of  your  Cows, 
And  clothe  my  fingers  in  your  Horses'  manes; 
I'll  hear  that  music,  when  a  pony  trots 
Along  your  hard,  white  country  roads  and  lanes. 

50 


The  Song  of  Life 


XLI 

Kissed  with  his  warm  eyelashes  touching  mine, 
ril  lie  beneath  the  Sun,  on  golden  sheaves; 
Or  see  him  from  the  shade,  when  in  his  strength 
He  makes  frail  cobwebs  of  the  solid  leaves. 

XLII 

I'll  see  again  the  green  leaves  suddenly 
Turned  into  flowers  by  resting  butterflies; 
While  all  around  are  small,  brown,  working  bees, 
And  hairy  black-and-ambers,  twice  their  size. 

XLIII 

And  there'll  be  ponds  that  lily-leaves  still  keep — 
Though    rough    winds    blow    there — lying    fast 

asleep. 
And  pools  that  measure  a  cloud  from  earth  to  sky, 
To  sink  it  down  as  deep  as  it  is  high. 

XLIV 

And  many  a  charming  truth  will  I  discover; 

How  birds,  after  a  wetting  in  the  rain. 

Can  make  their  notes  come  twice  as  sweet;  and 

then 
How  sparrows  hop  with  both  their  legs  together, 
While  pigeons  stride  leg  after  leg,  like  men. 

51 


The  Song  of  Life 


XLV 

Nature  for  me,  in  every  mood  she  has ; 
And  frosty  mornings,  clear  and  cold,  that  blind 
The  cattle  in  a  mist  of  their  own  breath — 
Shall  never  come  and  find  my  heart  unkind. 

XLVI 

And  ril  forget  these  deep  and  troubled  thoughts; 
How,  like  a  saucy  puppy.  Life  doth  stand 
Barking  upon  this  world  of  crumbling  sand; 
Half  in  defiance  there,  and  half  in  fear — 
For  still  the  waves  of  Time  are  drawing  near. 

XLVII 

Would  birds,  if  they  had  thoughts  of  their  short 

days. 
Stand  on  the  boughs  and  carol  such  sweet  lays? 
Is  it  not  better  then  that  we  should  join 
The  birds  in  song  than  sit  in  grief  and  pine? 

XLVIII 

Come,  let  us  laugh — though  there's  no  wit  to  hear; 
Come,  let  us  sing — though  there's  no  listener  near; 
Come,   let   us   dance — though   none   admire   our 

grace. 
And  be  the  happier  for  a  private  place. 

52 


The  Song  of  Life 

XLIX 

A  quiet  life  with  Nature  is  my  choice 
And,  opening  there  my  Book  of  Memory, 
The  record  of  my  wild  young  roving  blood — 
I'll  sail  the  seas  again,  and  reach  strange  ports, 
And  light  a  fire  in  many  a  silent  wood. 


Under  white  blossoms  spread  all  over  him, 
Have  I  not  seen  the  Ocean  laugh  and  roll ; 
And  watched  a  boundless  prairie,  when  it  lay 
So  full  of  flowers  it  could  employ  the  whole 
World's  little  ones  to  pick  them  in  a  day? 

LI 

I'll  sail  the  great  Atlantic,  whose  strong  waves 
Could  lift  the  ship  'Tritonia"  up  so  high 
That  to  my  wondering  mind  it  of  ttimes  seemed 
About  to  take  the  air  above,  and  fly ! 

LII 

Up  North  I'll  go,  where  steel,  more  cold  than 

death. 
Can  burn  the  skin  off  any  naked  hands — 
Down  to  those  woods  where  I'll  at  midnight  read 
By  one  fat  glow-worm's  light  in  Southern  lands. 

53 


The  Song  of  Life 


LIII 


I'll  see  again,  in  dreams,  the  full-rigged  Ship 
Wearing  the  Moon  as  a  silver  ring  at  night 
On  her  main  finger;  while  the  water  shines. 
Fretted  with  island-shadows  in  the  light. 


LIV 

With  all  the  wealth  of  Heaven :  those  perfect  stars 
That  draw  near  earth  in  numbers  to  amaze ; 
The  bubble-light  of  others  deep  impooled, 
The  shadowy  lustre  of  those  lesser  rays. 


LV 

I'll  see  again,  in  my  long  winter  dreams. 
That  iceberg  in  the  North,  whose  glorious  beams 
Fluttered  in  their  cold  prison,  while  the  Sun 
Went  up  and  down  with  our  good  ship,  like  one. 


LVI 

I'll  dream  of  Colorado's  rushing  stream; 
And  how  I  heard  him  slap  his  thighs  of  stone 
So  loud  that  Heaven  had  never  power  to  make 
His  canon  hear  more  thunder  than  his  own. 

54 


The  Song  of  Life 


LVII 

There  will  I  live  with  Nature,  there  I'll  die; 
And  if  there's  any  Power  in  Heaven  above, 
A  God  of  vengeance,  mercy,  and  sweet  love — 
If  such  a  judge  there  be,  I  can  but  trust 
In  Him  for  what  is  only  fair  and  just. 

LVIII 

I'll  place  my  hope  in  some  few  simple  deeds 
That  sacrificed  a  part  of  my  own  needs 
All  for  the  love  of  poor  Humanity — 
Without  a  single  thought,  O  Lord,  of  Thee. 


S5 


Raptures 


SING  for  the  sun  your  lyric,  lark, 
Of  twice  ten  thousand  notes ; 
Sing  for  the  moon,  you  nightingales, 

Whose  light  shall  kiss  your  throats; 
Sing,  sparrows,  for  the  soft,  warm  rain, 

To  wet  your  feathers  through; 
And,  when  a  rainbow's  in  the  sky. 
Sing  you,  cuckoo — ''Cuckoo!" 

Sing  for  your  five  blue  eggs,  fond  thrush, 

By  many  a  leaf  concealed ; 
You  starlings,  wrens,  and  blackbirds  sing 

In  every  wood  and  field : 
While  I,  who  fail  to  give  my  love 

Long  raptures  twice  as  fine. 
Will  for  her  beauty  breathe  this  one — 

A  sigh,  that's  more  divine. 


56 


Confession 

ONE  hour  in  every  hundred  hours 
I  sing  of  childhood,  birds  and  flowers ; 
Who  reads  my  character  in  song 
Will  not  see  much  in  me  that's  wrong. 

But  in  my  ninety  hours  and  nine 
I  would  not  tell  what  thoughts  are  mine : 
They're  not  so  pure  as  find  their  words 
In  songs  of  childhood,  flowers  and  birds. 


57 


Easter 

WHAT  exultations  in  my  mind 
From  the  love-bite  of  this  Easter  wind  I 
My  head  thrown  back,  my  face  doth  shine 
Like  yonder  Sun's,  but  warmer  mine. 
A  butterfly — from  who  knows  where? — 
Comes  with  a  stagger  through  the  air, 
And,  lying  down,  doth  ope  and  close 
His  wings,  as  babies  work  their  toes : 
Perhaps  he  thinks  of  pressing  tight 
Into  his  wings  a  little  light ! 
And  many  a  bird  hops  in  between 
The  leaves  he  dreams  of,  long  and  green, 
And  sings  for  nipple-buds  that  show 
Where  the  full-breasted  leaves  must  grow. 
Winter  is  dead,  and  now  we  sing 
This  welcome  to  the  new-born  Spring. 


58 


My  Love  Could  Walk 

MY  Love  could  walk  in  richer  hues 
Than  any  bird  of  paradise, 
And  no  one  envy  her  her  dress : 

Since  in  her  looks  the  world  would  see 
A  robin's  love  and  friendliness. 


And  she  could  be  the  lily  fair, 

More  richly  dressed  than  all  her  kind, 

And  no  one  envy  her  her  gain : 

Since  in  her  looks  the  world  would  see 

A  daisy  that  was  sweet  and  plain. 

Oh,  she  could  sit  like  any  queen 

That's  nailed  by  diamonds  to  a  throne. 

Her  splendour  envied  by  not  one : 

Since  in  her  looks  the  world  would  see 

A  queen  that's  more  than  half  a  nun. 


59 


My  Old  Acquaintance 

T  T  rORKING  her  toothless  gums  till  her  sharp 

Could  almost  reach  and  touch  her  sharper  nose, 
These  are  the  words  my  old  acquaintance  said: 
'1  have  four  children,  all  alive  and  well; 
My  eldest  girl  was  seventy  years  in  March, 
And  though  when  she  was  born  her  body  was 
Covered  all  over  with  black  hair,  and  long, 
Which  when  I  saw  at  first  made  me  cry  out, 
'Take  it  away,  it  is  a  monkey — ugh !' 
Yet  she's  as  smooth  and  fair  as  any,  now. 
And  I,  who  sit  for  hours  in  this  green  space 
That  has  seven  currents  of  good  air,  and  pray 
At  night  to  Jesus  and  His  Mother,  live 
In  hopes  to  reach  my  ninetieth  year  in  June. 
But  ere  it  pleases  God  to  take  my  soul, 
I'll  sell  my  fine  false  teeth,  which  cost  five  pounds, 
Preserved  in  water  now  for  twenty  years, 
For  well  I  know  those  girls  will  fight  for  them 
As  soon  as  I  am  near  my  death ;  before 
My  skin's  too  cold  to  feel  the  feet  of  flies. 
God  bless  you  and  good  day — I  wish  you  well. 
For  me,  I  cannot  relish  food,  or  sleep. 
Till  God  sees  fit  to  hold  the  Kaiser  fast. 
Stabbed,  shot,  or  hanged — and  his  black  soul 
Sent  into  hell,  to  bubble,  burn  and  squeal ; 
Think  of  the  price  of  fish — and  look  at  bacon !" 

60 


A  Winter's  Night 

IT  is  a  winter's  night  and  cold, 
The  wind  is  blowing  half  a  gale; 
I,  with  a  red-hot  poker,  stir 

To  take  the  chill  off  my  old  ale. 

I  drink  my  ale,  I  smoke  my  pipe, 

While  fire-flames  leap  to  fight  the  cold ; 

And  yet,  before  my  bedtime  comes, 
I  must  look  out  on  the  wide  world. 

And  what  strange  beauty  I  behold  : 

The  wild  fast-driven  clouds  this  night 

Hurled  at  the  moon,  whose  smiling  face 
Still  shines  with  undiminished  light. 


61 


Birds 

TTI  THEN  our  two  souls  have  left  this  mortal 

And,   seeking  mine,   you   think   that   mine   is 
lost — 
Look  for  me  first  in  that  Elysian  glade 

Where  Lesbia  is,  for  whom  the  birds  sing  most. 

What  happy  hearts  those  feathered  mortals  have, 

That  sing  so  sweet  when  they're  wet  through 

in  spring ! 

For  in  that  month  of  May  when  leaves  are  young. 

Birds  dream  of  song,  and  in  their  sleep  they 

sing. 

And   when   the   spring  has   gone   and   they   are 
dumb. 

Is  it  not  fine  to  watch  them  at  their  play: 
Is  it  not  fine  to  see  a  bird  that  tries 

To  stand  upon  the  end  of  every  spray? 

See  how  they  tilt  their  pretty  heads  aside : 

When  women  make  that  move   they   always 
please. 
What  cosy  homes  birds  make  in  leafy  walls 
That  Nature's  love  has  ruined — and  the  trees. 
62 


Birds 

Oft  have  I  seen  in  fields  the  little  birds 
Go  in  between  a  bullock's  legs  to  eat; 

But  what  gives  me  most  joy  is  when  I  see 
Snow  on  my  doorstep,  printed  by  their  feet. 


63 


Jove  Warns  Us 

JOVE  warns  us  with  his  lightning  first, 
Before  he  sends  his  thunder ; 
Before  the  cock  begins  to  crow, 

He  claps  his  wings  down  under. 
But  I,  who  go  to  see  a  maid, 

This  springtime  in  the  morning. 
Fall  under  every  spell  she  has. 
Without  a  word  of  warning. 

She  little  thinks  what  charms  her  breath 

To  cunning  eyes  reveal ; 
The  waves  that  down  her  body  glide. 

That  from  her  bosom  steal. 
Her  moth-like  plumpness  caught  my  eye, 

I  watched  it  like  a  spider; 
By  her  own  hair  my  web  is  made, 

To  fasten  me  beside  her. 


64 


The  Excuse 

WHY  did  you  kill  that  harmless  frog? 
Tell  me,  my  little  boy." 
He  hung  his  head  for  shame,  and  gone 
Was  all  his  joy. 

But  now  a  thought  comes  to  his  mind. 

He  lifts  his  head  with  pride : 
"I  only  A^//-killed  it,"  he  said — 

^^And  then  it  died." 


65 


In  the  Snow 

HEAR  how  my  friend  the  robin  sings ! 
That  little  hunchback  in  the  snow, 
As  it  comes  down  as  fast  as  rain. 

The  air  is  cold,  the  wind  doth  blow. 
And  still  his  heart  can  feel  no  pain. 

And  I,  with  heart  as  light  as  his. 
And  to  my  ankles  deep  in  snow. 

Hold  up  a  fist  as  cold  as  Death's, 
And  into  it  I  laugh  and  blow — 

I  laugh  and  blow  my  life's  warm  breath. 


66 


Molly 


MOLLY,  with  hips  and  ankles  plump, 
With  hands  and  feet  and  waist  so  small, 
Whose  breasts  could  carry  flowers  unpinned, 

And  not  one  blossom  fall — 
Give  me  your  answer  plain  and  true. 
Do  you  love  me  as  I  love  you? 

Molly,  as  timid  as  a  sheep 

That  trembles  at  the  shadow 
Of  any  harmless  little  bird 

That  flies  across  its  meadow. 
Are  you  a  sweet  good-tempered  maid? 
''Sometimes  I'd  crush  a  grape !"  she  said. 

Molly,  as  gentle  as  the  sun 

That  lifts  the  dew  to  Heaven's  breast. 
Of  all  the  lovers  you  have  had. 

Am  I  the  one  that's  loved  the  best? 
"By  all  the  men  betrayed  by  me, 
I  swear  I  love  you  true,"  said  she. 


67 


H 


Killed  in  Action 

(Edward  Thomas) 

APPY  the  man  whose  home  is  still 
In  Nature's  green  and  peaceful  ways; 
To  wake  and  hear  the  birds  so  loud, 
That  scream  for  joy  to  see  the  sun 
Is  shouldering  past  a  sullen  cloud. 

And  we  have  known  those  days,  when  we 
Would  wait  to  hear  the  cuckoo  first; 

When  you  and  I,  with  thoughtful  mind, 
Would  help  a  bird  to  hide  her  nest. 

For  fear  of  other  hands  less  kind. 

But  thou,  my  friend,  art  lying  dead : 
War,  with  its  hell-born  childishness. 

Has  claimed  thy  life,  with  many  more : 
The  man  that  loved  this  England  wdl, 

And  never  left  it  once  before. 


68 


Lovely  Dames 


FEW  are  my  books,  but  my  small  few  have  told 
Of  many  a  lovely  dame  that  lived  of  old ; 
And  they  have  made  me  see  those  fatal  charms 
Of  Helen,  which  brought  Troy  so  many  harms; 
And  lovely  Venus,  when  she  stood  so  white 
Close  to  her  husband's  forge  in  its  red  light. 
I  have  seen  Dian's  beauty  in  my  dreams. 
When  she  had  trained  her  looks  in  all  the  streams 
She  crossed  to  Latmos  and  Endymion ; 
And  Cleopatra's  eyes,  that  hour  they  shone 
The  brighter  for  a  pearl  she  drank  to  prove 
How  poor  it  was  compared  to  her  rich  love  : 
But  when  I  look  on  thee,  love,  thou  dost  give 
Substance  to  those  fine  ghosts,  and  make  them 
live. 


69 


The  Shameless  One 

SHE  comes  to  see  her  brother  John, 
She's  with  a  man  not  met  before; 
To  bring  her  brother's  house  to  shame, 
She  comes  a  hundred  miles  and  more. 

And  when  her  brother  leaves  his  home, 
She  finds  her  sisters  Maud  and  May; 

She's  drunk,  and  with  another  man. 
And  both  her  sisters  hide  away. 

She'll  follow  them  from  place  to  place, 
She'll  find  them  yet,  be  sure  of  that; 

And  John  will  be  a  shivering  dog 
Before  the  eyes  of  a  black  cat. 

The  beggar-man  has  not  more  nits 
Than  she  has  sins,  yet  she'll  not  die : 

The  lightning,  that  would  blind  a  child 
A  second  time,  has  passed  her  by. 


70 


Cowslips  and  Larks 

I   HEAR  it  said  yon  land  is  poor, 
In  spite  of  those  rich  cowslips  there— 
And  all  the  swinging  larks  it  shoots 
To  heaven  from  the  cowslips'  roots. 
But  I,  with  eyes  that  beauty  find, 
And  music  ever  in  my  mind, 
Feed  my  thoughts  well  upon  that  grass 
Which  starves  the  horse,  the  ox,  and  ass. 
So  here  I  stand,  two  miles  to  come 
To  Shapwick  and  my  ten-days-home. 
Taking  my  summer's  joy,  although 
The  distant  clouds  are  dark  and  low. 
And  comes  a  storm  that,  fierce  and  strong. 
Has  brought  the  Mendip  Hills  along: 
Those  hills  that,  when  the  light  is  there. 
Are  many  a  sunny  mile  from  here. 


71 


We  Arm  to  Fight 

WE  arm  to  fight  the  Kaiser's  troops, 
And  every  man  will  do  his  part ; 
One  song  was  mine,  a  call  to  arms, 
To  cheer  my  country's  heart. 

My  love — 
To  cheer  my  country's  heart. 

Yes,  I  who  have  the  power  of  song 
To  arm  maybe  a  hundred  men, 

Have  made  one  call,  and  only  one. 
And  armed  no  more  than  ten. 

My  love — 
And  armed  no  more  than  ten. 

For  now  we  meet,  and  my  one  cry 
Is  "Molly,  Molly,"  night  and  day; 

We  fight  the  foe,  and  I  am  dumb  : 
Oh,  kiss  my  shame  away. 

My  love ! 
Oh,  kiss  my  shame  away ! 


72 


Forgiveness 

STUNG  by  a  spiteful  wasp, 
I  let  him  go  life  free : 
That  proved  the  difference 
In  him  and  me. 


For,  had  I  killed  my  foe. 
It  had  proved  me  at  once 

The  stronger  wasp,  and  no 
More  difference. 


73 


That  Day  She  Seized 

THAT  day  she  seized  me  like  a  bee, 
To  make  me  her  weak  blossom, 
I  felt  her  arms  so  strong  that  I 
Lay  helpless  on  her  bosom. 
But  cunning  I,  by  artful  moves, 

Soon  had  her  in  my  power : 
"Ah,  Molly,  who's  the  strong  bee  now — 
And  who's  the  poor  weak  flower?" 

That  time  she  thought  I  was  a  fly. 

And  she  a  great  big  spider. 
She  held  me  fast,  my  breath  was  gone. 

As  I  lay  bound  beside  her. 
But  cunning  I,  by  artful  moves. 

Could  laugh  at  last  and  cry: 
"Ah,  Molly,  who's  the  spider  now — 

And  who's  the  poor  weak  fly?" 


74 


The  Bell 

IT  is  the  bell  of  death  I  hear, 
Which  tells  me  my  own  time  is  near. 
When  I  must  join  those  quiet  souls 
Where  nothing  lives  but  worms  and  moles; 
And  not  come  through  the  grass  again, 
Like  worms  and  moles,  for  breath  or  rain; 
Yet  Let  none  weep  when  my  life's  through, 
For  I  myself  have  wept  for  few. 

The  only  things  that  knew  me  well 
Were  children,  dogs,  and  girls  that  fell; 
I  bought  poor  children  cakes  and  sweets. 
Dogs  heard  my  voice  and  danced  the  streets; 
And,  gentle  to  a  fallen  lass, 
I  made  her  weep  for  what  she  was. 
Good  men  and  women  know  not  me, 
Nor  love  nor  hate  the  mystery. 


75 


A  Strange  Meeting 

THE  moon  is  full,  and  so  am  I ; 
The  night  is  late,  the  ale  was  good; 
And  I  must  go  two  miles  and  more 
Along  a  country  road. 

Now  what  is  this  that's  drawing  near? 

It  seems  a  man,  and  tall; 
But  where  the  face  should  show  its  white 

I  see  no  white  at  all. 


Where  is  his  face :  or  do  I  see 

The  back  part  of  his  head, 
And,  with  his  face  turned  round  about, 

He  walks  this  way?  I  said. 

He's  close  at  hand,  but  where's  the  face? 

What  devil  is  this  I  see? 
I'm  glad  my  body's  warm  with  ale. 

There's  trouble  here  for  me. 

I  clutch  my  staff,  I  make  a  halt, 

''His  blood  or  mine,"  said  I. 
''Good-night,"  the  black  man  said  to  me. 

As  he  went  passing  by. 


76 


When  yon  Full  Moon 

WHEN  yon  full  moon's  with  her  white  fleet 
of  stars, 
And  but  one  bird  makes  music  in  the  grove; 
When  you  and  I  are  breathing  side  by  side, 

Where  our  two  bodies  make  one  shadow,  love; 

Not  for  her  beauty  will  I  praise  the  moon, 
But  that  she  lights  thy  purer  face  and  throat; 

The  only  praise  I'll  give  the  nightingale 
Is  that  she  draws  from  thee  a  richer  note. 

For,  blinded  with  thy  beauty,  I  am  filled, 
Like  Saul  of  Tarsus,  with  a  greater  light; 

When  he  had  heard  that  warning  voice  in  Heaven, 
And  lost  his  eyes  to  find  a  deeper  sight. 

Come,  let  us  sit  in  that  deep  silence  then. 

Launched  on  love's  rapids,  with  our  passions 
proud. 

That  makes  all  music  hollow — though  the  lark 
Raves  in  his  windy  heights  above  a  cloud. 


77 


Till  I  Went  Out 

TILL  I  went  out  of  doors  to  prove 
What  through  my  window  I  saw  move; 
To  see  if  grass  was  brighter  yet, 
And  if  the  stones  were  dark  and  wet; 

Till  I  went  out  to  see  a  sign — 
That  slanted  rain,  so  light  and  fine, 
Had  almost  settled  in  my  mind 
That  I  at  last  could  see  the  wind. 


78 


The  SouPs  Companions 

THOUGH  floods  shall  fail,  and  empty 
holes 
Gape  for  the  bright  eyes  of  seas, 
And  fires  devour  stone  walls  and  trees — 
Thou,  soul  of  mine,  dost  think  to  live 
Safe  in  thy  light,  and  laugh  at  these? 

Thy  bravery  outwears  all  heat 

And  cold,  all  steel,  all  brass  and  stone; 
When  Time  has  mixed  my  flesh  and  bone 

With  rocks  and  roots  of  common  plants — 
Thy  shining  life  will  not  be  done. 

Thou  hast  two  children:  one  called  Hope, 
The  other  Doubt,  who  will  not  play. 
And  drives  that  brighter  child  away: 

How  sweet  this  life,  if  Hope  alone 

Would  walk  with  me  from  day  to  day ! 


79 


To  my  Thoughts 

STAY  home  and  hear  the  birds  and  bees, 
And  see  the  blossoms  grow; 
And  mock  them  both — when  Echo  mocks 

The  bird  that  cries  "Cuckoo" ; 
For  Love,  alas! — now  understood — 
Has  many  a  feather  stained  with  blood. 

Though  you  are  my  own  children  born, 

I  cannot  keep  you  home; 
For  though  I  lock  my  body  up 

Inside  an  iron  room. 
You  thoughts  can  still  pass  through  the  walls. 
To  follow  her  who  never  calls. 


80 


The  Holly  on  the  Wall 

PLAY,  little  children,  one  and  all. 
For  holly,  holly  on  the  wall. 
You  do  not  know  that  millions  are 
This  moment  in  a  deadly  war; 
Millions  of  men  whose  Christmas  bells 
Are  guns'  reports  and  bursting  shells; 
Whose  holly  berries,  made  of  lead, 
Take  human  blood  to  stain  them  red ; 
Whose  leaves  are  swords,  and  bayonets  too, 
To  pierce  their  fellow-mortals  through. 
For  now  the  war  is  here,  and  men — 
Like  cats  that  stretch  their  bodies  when 
The  light  has  gone  and  darkness  comes — 
Have  armed  and  left  their  peaceful  homes : 
But  men  will  be,  when  there's  no  war, 
As  gentle  as  you  children  are. 
Play,  little  children,  one  and  all. 
For  holly,  holly  on  the  wall. 


81 


How  Late 

Now  thou  hast  made  me  blind, 
And  I  can  only  see, 
In  all  the  world,  what  comes  from  thee ; 

Now  thou  hast  made  me  deaf. 

And  I  can  only  hear 
Thy  voice,  or  body's  motion  near; 

Now  thou  hast  made  me  dumb. 

And  my  two  lips  are  mute, 
Till  yours  have  bid  them  follow  suit; 

Now  blind  and  deaf  and  dumb 
To  all  the  world  but  thee — 
How  late  thou  art  forsaking  me ! 


82 


Brothers 

THEY  lived  together  day  and  night, 
Two  brothers,  all  alone : 
Six  weeks  had  gone,  and  neighbours  said- 
'We  see  no  more  than  one. 

Where  is  thy  brother  Charlie,  Tom"? 

And  is  he  sick?"  they  said. 
Said  Tom,  that  man  so  queer  and  quaint — 

"My  brother's  still  in  bed." 

And  every  night  they  heard  his  voice, 

Down  on  the  stairs  below: 
"And  are  you  still  in  bed  and  sick — 

How  are  you,  Charlie,  now?" 

They  forced  the  doors  and  entered  in. 

Found  Charlie  on  the  bed : 
"I  see  a  dead  man  here  alive," 

The  old  physician  said. 

"For  see  the  worms !    They  bubble  here 

In  pools  upon  his  flesh : 
They  wag  the  beard  that's  on  his  chin — 

This  body  is  not  fresh." 

83 


Brothers 

Then  came  a  voice  all  sharp  and  clear, 
Down  on  the  stairs  below  : 

''And  are  you  still  in  bed  and  sick — 
How  are  you,  Charlie,  now?" 


84 


Exalted  Flower 

No  more  of  that,  you  butterfly. 
That  lie  so  still  on  this  green  leaf, 
Pretending  you're  a  flower  again, 
And  wings  but  bring  you  grief : 
You  have  no  cause,  exalted  flower. 
To  doubt  your  flying  power. 

No  more  of  that !    You  with  a  gift 

Not  granted  yet  to  any  bee 
Or  bird  that's  flying  in  the  air : 

The  precious  gift  to  see 
Dark  tunnels  in  this  open  light, 

And  vanish  out  of  sight. 


85 


What  Thoughts  are  Mine 

WHAT  thoughts  are  mine  when  she  is  gone, 
And  I  sit  dreaming  here,  alone ; 
My  fingers  are  the  little  people 
That  climb  her  breast  to  its  red  steeple ; 
And,  there  arrived,  they  play  until 
She  wakes  and  murmurs — ''Love,  be  still." 

She  is  the  patient,  loving  mare, 

And  I  the  colt  to  pull  her  hair; 

She  is  the  deer,  and  my  desire 

Pursues  her  like  a  forest  fire ; 

She  is  the  child,  and  does  not  know 

What  a  fierce  bear  she  calls  ''Bow-wow." 

But,  Lord,  when  her  sweet  self  is  near, 
These  very  thoughts  cause  all  my  fear. 
I  sit  beneath  her  quiet  sense. 
And  each  word  fears  its  consequence ; 
So  "Puss,  Puss,  Puss!"  I  cry.    At  that 
I  hang  my  head  and  stroke  the  cat. 


86 


Angel  and  Mystery 

10,  I,  that  once  was  Fear,  that  hears 
-^  His  own  forgotten  breath,  and  fears 
The  breath  of  something  else  is  heard — 
Am  now  bold  Love,  to  dare  the  word; 
No  timid  mouse  am  I,  before 
He'll  cross  a  moonbeam  on  the  floor. 
So  sit  thou  close,  and  I  will  pour 
Into  that  rosy  shell,  thy  ear. 
My  deep-sea  passion;  let  me  swear 
There's  nothing  in  the  world  so  fair 
As  thy  sweet  face  that  does,  and  will, 
Retain  its  baby  roundness  still : 
With  those  two  suns,  thine  eyes,  that  keep 
Their  light  from  clouds  till  Night  brings  sleep. 
Forget  my  features,  only  see 
The  soul  in  them  that  burns  for  thee; 
And  never  let  it  cross  thy  mind 
That  I  am  ugly  for  my  kind. 
Although  the  world  may  well  declare, 
''One  is  an  angel  sweet  and  fair. 
But  what  it  is  that  sits  so  close 
Must  rest  with  God — He  only  knows." 


87 


They're  Taxing  Ale  Again 

A  LE'S  no  false  liar;  though  his  mind 
JTjl,  Has  thoughts  that  are  not  clear, 
His  honest  heart  speaks  boldly  out, 

Without  reserve  or  fear. 
Though  shaky  as  that  bird  the  bat, 

In  its  first  flight  at  night, 
Yet  still  old  Ale  will  stand  his  ground 

For  either  wrong  or  right. 

Though  Ale  is  poor,  he's  no  man's  slave, 

He'll  neither  fawn  nor  lick; 
He'd  clap  proud  monarchs  on  the  back. 

And  call  them  Ned  or  Dick. 
They're  taxing  Ale  again,  I  hear, 

A  penny  more  the  can : 
They're  taxing  poor  old  Ale  again, 

The  only  honest  man. 


88 


The  Girl  is  Mad 

SHE  changes  oft — she  laughs  and  weeps, 
She  smiles,  and  she  can  frown ; 
Should  tears  of  sorrow  fill  her  eyes, 
Then  laughter  shakes  them  down : 
The  girl  is  mad — and  yet  I  love  her. 

She  smiles,  and  swears  her  jealousy 

Would  tear  out  my  two  eyes, 
And  make  me  swallow  them  by  force : 

These  words  are  no  strong  lies. 
For  she  is  mad — and  yet  I  love  her. 

"Ha,  ha!"  says  she;  'Tve  killed  two  men, 
And  you're  the  third  I'll  kill !" 

If  I  keep  time  with  her  fierce  love, 
'Tis  certain  that  she  will  : 

The  girl  is  mad — and  yet  I  love  her. 


89 


In  Time  of  War 

AS  I  go  walking  down  the  street 
jl\l  Many's  the  lad  and  lass  I  meet; 
There's  many  a  soldier  I  see  pass, 
And  every  soldier  has  his  lass. 

But  when  I  saw  the  others  there, 
The  women  that  black  mourning  wear, 
''Judged  by  the  looks  of  these,"  I  said, 
"The  lads  those  lassies  court  are  dead." 


90 


England 


WE  have  no  grass  locked  up  in  ice  so  fast 
That  cattle  cut  their  faces  and  at  last, 
When  it  is  reached,   must  lie  them  down   and 

starve, 
With  bleeding  mouths  that  freeze  too  hard  to 

move. 
We  have  not  that  delirious  state  of  cold 
That  makes  men  warm  and  sing  when  in  Death's 

hold. 
We  have  no  roaring  floods  whose  angry  shocks 
Can  kill  the  fishes  dashed  against  their  rocks. 
.  We  have  no  winds  that  cut  down  street  by  street, 
As  easy  as  our  scythes  can  cut  down  wheat. 
No  mountains  here  to  spew  their  burning  hearts 
Into  the  valleys,  on  our  human  parts. 
No  earthquakes  here,  that  ring  church  bells  afar, 
A  hundred  miles  from  where  those  earthquakes 

are. 
We  have  no  cause  to  set  our  dreaming  eyes. 
Like  Arabs,  on  fresh  streams  in  Paradise. 
We  have  no  wilds  to  harbour  men  that  tell 
More  murders  than  they  can  remember  well. 
No  woman  here  shall  wake  from  her  night's  rest. 
To  find  a  snake  is  sucking  at  her  breast. 
Though  I  have  travelled  many  and  many  a  mile, 

91 


England 

And  had  a  man  to  clean  my  boots  and  smile 
With  teeth  that  had  less  bone  in  them  than  gold- 
Give  me  this  England  now  for  all  my  world. 


92 


Come,  Let  Us  Find 

GOME,  let  us  find  a  cottage,  love. 
That's  green  for  half  a  mile  around; 
To  laugh  at  every  grumbling  bee, 

Whose  sweetest  blossom's  not  yet  found. 
Where  many  a  bird  shall  sing  for  you. 

And  in  our  garden  build  its  nest : 
They'll  sing  for  you  as  though  their  eggs 
Were  lying  in  your  breast, 

My  love — 
Were  lying  warm  in  your  soft  breast. 

'Tis  strange  how  men  find  time  to  hate. 

When  life  is  all  too  short  for  love; 
But  we,  away  from  our  own  kind, 

A  different  life  can  live  and  prove. 
And  early  on  a  summer's  morn, 

As  I  go  walking  out  with  you. 
We'll  help  the  sun  with  our  warm  breath 

To  clear  away  the  dew. 
My  love, 

To  clear  away  the  morning  dew. 


93 


The  Birds  of  Steel 

THIS  apple-tree,  that  once  was  green, 
Is  now  a  thousand  flowers  in  one ! 
And,  with  their  bags  strapped  to  their  thighs, 
There's  many  a  bee  that  comes  for  sweets, 
To  stretch  each  bag  to  its  full  size. 

And  when  the  night  has  grown  a  moon, 

And  I  lie  half -asleep  in  bed, 
I  hear  those  bees  again — ah  no. 

It  is  the  birds  of  steel,  instead, 
Seeking  their  innocent  prey  below. 

Man-ridden  birds  of  steel,  unseen. 

That  come  to  drop  their  murdering  lime 

On  any  child  or  harmless  thing 
Before  the  early  morning  time : 

Up,  nearer  to  God,  they  fly  and  sing. 


94 


Rags  and  Bones 

THIS  morning,  as  I  wandered  forth, 
I  heard  a  man  cry,  "Rags  and  Bones!" 
And  little  children  in  the  streets 

Went  home  for  bottles,  bones  and  rags, 
To  barter  for  his  toys  and  sweets. 

And  then  I  thought  of  grown-up  man, 
That  in  our  dreams  we  trust  a  God 

Will  think  our  rags  and  bones  a  boon, 
And  give  us  His  immortal  sweets 

For  these  poor  lives  cast  off  so  soon. 

The  mind,  they  say,  will  gather  strength 
That  broods  on  what  is  hard  to  know : 

The  fear  of  unfamiliar  things 
Is  better  than  their  parents'  love. 

To  teach  young  birds  to  use  their  wings. 

But  riddles  are  not  made  for  me. 
My  joy's  in  beauty,  not  its  cause: 

Then  give  me  but  the  open  skies. 
And  birds  that  sing  in  a  green  wood 

That's  snow-bound  by  anemones. 


95 


The  Dancer 

THE  great  white  Moon  is  not  so  fair — 
When  not  one  trembling  star  will  dare 
To  shine  within  her  zone  of  air. 

And  lo,  this  blue-eyed  maiden  soon 
Moves  lightly  to  the  music's  tune — 
Light  as  a  water-fly  in  June. 

As  she  goes  spinning  round  and  round, 
Her  nimble  toes,  without  a  sound. 
Sip  honey  from  the  common  ground. 

Like  the  humming-bird  that,  swift  and  strong, 
Will  never  suck  but,  flying  along. 
Just  lick  the  blossoms  with  his  tongue. 

Dance,  dance,  thou  blue-eyed  wonder,  dance ! 
I  still  believe  there's  one  small  chance 
Thou'lt  fall  into  my  arms  in  a  trance. 


96 


On  Hearing  Mrs,  Woodhouse 
Play  the  Harpsichord 

WE  poets  pride  ourselves  on  what 
We  feel,  and  not  what  we  achieve; 
The  world  may  call  our  children  fools, 

Enough  for  us  that  we  conceive. 
A  little  wren  that  loves  the  grass 
Can  be  as  proud  as  any  lark 

That  tumbles  in  a  cloudless  sky, 
Up  near  the  sun,  till  he  becomes 
The  apple  of  that  shining  eye. 

So,  lady,  I  would  never  dare 

To  hear  your  music  ev'ry  day; 
With  those  great  bursts  that  send  my  nerves 

In  waves  to  pound  my  heart  away; 
And  those  small  notes  that  run  like  mice 
Bewitched  by  light;  else  on  those  keys — 

My  tombs  of  song — you  should  engrave : 
"My  music,  stronger  than  his  own. 

Has  made  this  poet  my  dumb  slave." 


97 


Passion's  Greed 

HIS  constant  wonder  keeps  him  back 
From  flying  either  far  or  straight; 
Confined  by  thy  great  beauty  here, 
My  life  is  like  that  butterfly's, 
With  every  source  of  wonder  near. 

Let  me  go  burning  to  my  death : 

Nothing  can  come  between  our  minds 

To  ease  me  of  this  passion's  greed : 

We'll  bite  each  other's  necks  like  dogs, 

And  ask  our  fingers  if  we  bleed. 


98 


Late  Singers 

THE  Spring  was  late  in  coming,  so, 
Sweet  bird,  your  songs  are  late : 
Have  you  a  certain  number,  then, 

Of  verses  to  create? 
If  late  to  start  means  late  to  end. 
You  comfort  me,  sweet  friend. 

It  was  the  summer  of  my  life 

Ere  I  began  to  sing : 
Will  winter  be  my  summer,  then. 

As  summer  was  my  spring? 
No  matter  how  things  change  their  hue, 
We'll  sing  our  number  through. 


99 


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